Aster freezes. Either the topiary she’d bumped into really did mind, or someone else was in the garden with her.

“How long have you been here?” The voice demands again. Aster’s hands fly up to the hem of her hood, tugging it further down her face. “State your business.”

“S-Sightseeing?” Aster says, still refusing to turn around.

“Sightseeing?” The voice says in utter disbelief. “What do you take the royal palace for? A tourist attraction?”

It’s not like Aster had lied. She really had been sightseeing. What’s so wrong about that? Still, her feet remain glued in place, unable to find the nerve to turn and show her face.

“You haven’t answered my first question,” the voice continues. A man, Aster thinks. No, a boy. “Who are you? Reveal your face immediately.”

It’s a tone that brooks no argument. Not unless Aster’s willing to hotfoot it all the way to her room just to escape his ceaseless questioning.

Hale, what if he chases after her if she decides to run?

Resigning herself to her fate, Aster turns slowly as she faces her questioner, hood still concealing her face. It obscures her vision, making her unable to catch the mystery boy’s face. All she can glimpse is his attire: a dark dress shirt, matching pressed slacks, and a pair of dress shoes so shiny that she’s almost certain she’d be able to catch her reflection in them if she dared to try.

“Why are you hiding your face?” He demands.

“I’m not hiding my face! It’s just… cold.”

A small part of her shrivels up and dies the second the words leave her mouth. Hale, she’s so rusty. She just knows that Damien would’ve laughed right in her face if he could’ve heard her sorry attempt for an excuse.

“Show me your face,” Mystery Boy says.

“Um-“

“Are you guilty of something?” She can practically hear the disdain dripping from his voice.

“Wha- of course not!”

“Then show me your face. Unless you feel you’ve done something wrong, you should have no problem showing me your face.”

Aster’s hands tighten around the hem of her cloak.

What a cocky little jerk! Could this guy get any more pretentious?

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Gritting her teeth, Aster lifts the hood from her face slowly, inch by shaky inch. When it reaches her eyes, she takes a small breath, before pushing it completely off her head.

Free of her hood, she’s finally able to see the face of her interrogator.

Oh, her bewildered mind supplies to her.

Oh no.

Because she recognises the face of the nuisance who’d interrupted her first night of freedom, of the boy who stares back at her like he’s looking at a ghost.

Aster’s breath rattles in her chest, every anger word she'd thought of spitting disappearing into smoke.

Somehow, she manages to find her voice again. “Oh,” she all but breathes. “It’s you.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

He looks different now; but that much is a given. It’s been six years after all. Six years, and yet that boyish charm still stubbornly clings to him, evident in the curve of his cheek, the upward slant of his eyes. His auburn hair is dishevelled, like he’s just finished running his hands through it.

“Aster Vastein,” Prince Florian Klars says, words escaping him in a hushed whisper. The moonlight limns his eyes a silvery brown, the colour of frost touched pine.

Aster stares back at him dazedly. It takes her a second to remember how to string her words into sentences. “Oh, uh, yep. That’s… me.”

This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to go. Not with him walking in on Aster in her nightgown and slippers while she dances around the garden and flirts with the bushes.

Oh Hale, had he seen all that?

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Florian says.

“Ah, yeah, I thought as much. I’m really sorry that you had to find me out here in the gardens-“

“You’re not supposed to be in this castle,” Florian cuts in. And only then does Aster notice the chill in his voice. The hostility that outlines his features.

“What are you talking about?” Aster clutches her cloak tighter around herself. “Of course I’m supposed to be here. Your family invited me to stay in the palace until our wedding.”

“What do you mean my—” He stops short, clearly coming to the answer himself. He presses a hand to his temples, like he’s suppressing an oncoming headache. “Of course. Mother. It has to be,” he mutters. “Always doing as she likes.” He drops his hand with a bone-weary sigh. “Look, I don’t know what you expect from me, but just… don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Aster wishes she’d grabbed something warmer. The chill that claws its way over her skin feels like it might just cut through.

“Don’t expect anything from me.” Florian’s words hang in the air like icicles. “Not warmth, not affection, and certainly not… love. Because I for one, don’t expect any of that from you.”

“But you invited me here.” Aster’s voice is quiet. She’s afraid that if she’s any louder, he might hear the way it quavers. “You asked me to come.”

Florian’s expression remains unmoved. It hurts more, somehow. To see him apathetic, rather than angry or disdainful.

Like he can’t even be bothered to care.

“Lady Vastein, I didn’t even know you were coming. And frankly, I never wanted you to.”